


Shore Leave

by tamerofdarkstars



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Domestic, If you can believe that, Late Night Conversations, M/M, as domestic as these two can be, i've lost complete control of my life, two bastard men sharing one another's company
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26261767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamerofdarkstars/pseuds/tamerofdarkstars
Summary: He hadn’t expressly told Elias when he’d be returning, of course, but when he stumped up the stairs, Peter found the door to his flat unlocked, which was the closest thing he ever really got to an invitation anyway.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 12
Kudos: 111





	Shore Leave

**Author's Note:**

> hi i'm all caught up on the podcast folks and can i just say. exquisite. 
> 
> also i took one look at this dumpster fire of a ship and decided ah yes. these bastards. domesticity. clearly the way to go.

He hadn’t expressly told Elias when he’d be returning, of course, but when he stumped up the stairs, Peter found the door to his flat unlocked, which was the closest thing he ever really got to an invitation anyway.

He didn’t bother turning on the lights, bending down to tug his boots off, leaving them slumped in the corner in a crowded heap. It would make Elias’s eyelid twitch dangerously to see them in the morning, which was always greatly amusing to watch. Padding through the silent flat in his socks, Peter resolutely ignored the many, many pieces of art that tracked his every movement, enduring the discomfort of dozens of pairs of eyes itching the back of his neck as he headed for the bedroom.

Elias didn’t move as he eased the door open, curled on his side with the blankets half-tangled around his waist. Peter sat heavily on the edge of the bed, shucking his coat and dropping it onto the floor.

He lay down on his side with a grunt, rolling over and letting his arm fall over Elias’s slim hips. He sighed, feeling his skin prickle as the fog retreated, thinning at first before vanishing entirely. He missed it already, uncomfortable and exposed.

“If you tracked mud through my flat I’ll pluck your eyes out with my bare hands,” mumbled Elias into the thick pre-dawn stillness. Peter barely resisted rolling his poor, threatened eyes in response.

“You watched me walk in,” he replied, pressing his nose to the knob of bone at the top of Elias’s spine. “I took them off.”

Elias ignored him, neither leaning into the touch or pulling away.

There was absolutely nothing lonelier than lying in bed next to someone who didn’t care if he were there or not. Indifference was a different type of loneliness, a different taste of the same drug. The difference between spending a weekend shuttered up inside, without seeing a single soul, and hearing friends make plans without including you.

Peter sank into the feeling, enjoying the way it crept up his body to settle comfortably in his chest.

“Missed you,” he said, picturing perfectly the irritation that would be crossing Elias’s face.

“I know very well that you didn’t.”

Peter grinned. “You’re right. I didn’t.”

The words were as familiar as his name at this point, a mini ritual of their very own. He wasn’t quite sure why Elias – or, rather, the sharp electric-eyed thing that resided in the unfortunate young Mr. Bouchard’s body – continued to tolerate it. Perhaps it was something like the strange butinsistent urgethat drove Peter to find Elias every time he came ashore.

And, well, Elias hadn’t killed him yet, even if Peter did crack the same joke every time he woke him up before the sun broke the horizon.

“You stink of the Lonely,” Elias muttered. “That bloody fog.”

“You love it.”

“Do not make me stab you.”

“And get blood all over the sheets?”

“A small price to pay for peace.”

Peter snorted, pulling his arm away and rolling onto his back. Elias didn’t move to follow him and Peter let his eyes flutter shut, sinking into the mattress topper. The feel of the silk sheets against his skin, the soft caress of the pillow… it was almost offensively decadent. Perhaps this was the real reason Peter sought out Elias during shore leave. There was certainly something to be said for creature comforts.

“Want to hear what I ran into, then?” he asked, keeping his eyes shut.

Elias ignored him, still and silent on the other side of the bed.

“Lots of wide open sea out there.”

Still nothing.

“Yep. Just me, my ship, and the empty water.”

Another beat.

“Looking out at such a wide ocean, some might even think to call it Vast.”

Elias muttered a curse, shifting, and Peter opened his eyes just as Elias rolled over. He caught a glimpse of a scowl, a head of tousled dark hair, those arresting arctic eyes before he reached an arm out and Elias curved his body into the space against Peter’s side.

“I hate you,” Elias said, eyes half-shut as he let his arm land across Peter’s chest, a careless gesture from the most precise man Peter had ever known. “Out with it, then.”

“Oh, want to hear it now? Not too sleepy, then?”

“Tell me or I’ll rip it from your bleeding skull.”

“Tsk tsk, so touchy before the sun’s risen.”

Elias lifted his head, eyes narrowing, and Peter felt that damned prickling sensation wash over him as all of Elias’s attention narrowed on _him_ , on knowing him and seeing him and bloody _hell—_

“Alright, alright!”

The sensation receded and Peter pressed a hand to his forehead, tasting salt, sea spray on the back of his tongue. Elias lowered his head, letting it fall back onto Peter’s upper arm.

“So,” Peter said, closing his eyes. “Fairchild’s still a bastard.”

“This is your grand revelation?”

“Hush now, or no story for you.”

Peter could practically feel Elias bite back a frustrated reply. He smiled and curved his arm around Elias’s shoulders, pressing his fingers gently against his arm.

“Took a new ship this time, through the Lonely and out into the Arctic seas. Bloody cold, but not much you can do, that far north. Went around towards the Americas rather than East.”

He could tell Elias was listening, despite the slow, rhythmic measures of his breath. He was warm, pressed all against Peter’s side. Burning, practically, with the way Peter always ran cold.

“I was having a lovely time when I came upon a rather unfortunate soul, stranded on a piece of wreckage.”

Elias hummed a soft, curious noise and Peter nodded.

“My thoughts exactly. I pulled up next to her, poor girl, and managed to get her aboard. You should have seen her face – half-frozen and terrified. I thought for a second she might be one of mine, but it alas, it seemed she was more concerned about the emptiness of the ocean around her than the fact that she was entirely alone.”

“The nerve of her,” Elias murmured and Peter could not help the amused grin that crossed his face.

“Exactly. I was more than a little annoyed to be disturbed, to be quite honest, but what’s done is done. Her name—”

“Claudia Cortés Hernandez,” Elias supplied and Peter sighed.

“Do you want to hear it or do you want to Know it?”

There was a beat of silence. Peter took that as his cue to continue.

“Yes. Claudia. Couldn’t quite seem to recall how long she’d been out there, but was convinced it was weeks, even though she’d have certainly frozen to death were that the truth. She claimed to have been caught in a storm off the coast of Newfoundland, of all places. Apparently she’d been up there for some kind of sailing competition in the northern Atlantic. But we were miles from there by that point, nearly back to England. Simon didn’t ever show his face – thankfully, because I was _not_ in the mood for more conversation, particularly with him – but I know his work when I see it. She’d definitely been marked by the Vast.”

“Did you drop her off then?”

Peter looked down at the top of Elias’s head. “Yes. Sent her to your Institute, in fact. Thought she could have a chat with your Archivist.”

Elias tipped his head up to look at him and they locked eyes. Peter held it as long as he could stand it, the damned itch of being seen crawling up his throat until he had to look away, staring up at the ceiling again. Elias smirked, victorious, letting his head drop back down.

“I told you you didn’t have to bring me back souvenirs,” he said and Peter huffed a laugh, barely a breath of a noise.

“Yes, but you bitch so exquisitely whenever I don’t.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

They lay like that, tangled warm beneath the sheets, for several long minutes, long enough that Peter felt himself begin to drift off, when Elias made a soft noise of surprise.

“Wait. You bought her a plane ticket to Paris.”

Peter blinked, his eyes fluttering back open. “Well, yes. I’m rather wealthy, Elias. A plane ticket to help the poor girl get home was barely a drop in the bucket.”

“She lives in Paris, Texas. In the United States. You bought her a ticket to Paris, France.”

“Oh, did I? Well, what a dreadful mistake. Hopefully she notices before she boards the plane. That could be quite the mix-up.”

Elias lifted his head again, eyeing him, and Peter gave him the most innocent look he could muster.

“You’re trying to steal her from Simon,” he said at last and Peter shrugged.

“It can be awfully Lonely, being by yourself in an unfamiliar country. Especially if one doesn’t speak the local language.”

Elias chuckled, the noise low and throaty, thick with sleep. “Bastard,” he said, but there was little heat in it, just a deep, gleeful amusement. “Simon will be incredibly annoyed with you.”

“Yes, I’m quite looking forward to it.”

Elias smirked, disentangling himself from Peter and rolling away, content with Peter’s story. Peter’s skin cooled, everywhere Elias had just been touching, and the restless loneliness that swelled in his chest was soothing ice, slowing his heart and numbing the tips of his fingers.

He sighed, content, and closed his eyes.

“Peter.”

“Hm?”

“Either banish the damn mist or go sleep on the couch.”

Peter bit back a snicker, opening his eyes and watching the mist swirl over them for a moment longer, just to irritate Elias, before it disappeared again.

Elias sighed and the room went silent. Peter watched the back of his head for a moment longer, watched his chest rise and fall with slow, even breaths.

Then he rolled over, facing away from Elias, and closed his eyes. He’d wake in the morning alone, Elias gone off to his precious Institute. Perhaps he’d have a bit of a lie in. He had no plans, after all, and after the rather exhausting ordeal of seeing after young Miss Hernandez, Peter felt like he’d earned it.


End file.
